There's Romance in the Science
by crackers4jenn
Summary: Spike loves Fred!1! It's postDestiny, Spike's already one with the solids meaning he's not a ghost anymore. He's all set to book a flight to Rome and head back to Buffy, when the sudden realization hits that he loves Fred. LIKE WOAH. [this is a mock!fic]
1. Chapter 1

Unlife was, without a doubt, a royal bitch.

Understatement.

You'd think after sacrificing yourself at the very pits of evil you'd at least be saddled up with a nice, shiny reward. Something in the halo and pearly gates department, maybe.

Wasn't the case with Spike. No, he saves the world -- damn big heroic gesture, mind you -- and he gets ripped back into existence and placed under lock and key with Angel playing warden. As a sodding _ghost_.

He'd gotten over his otherworldly sojourn (read: ghosties) a couple of days ago. Two or three, maybe. Four at the most. He couldn't place an exact date, being that he'd since drowned out the world in a few different bottles of alcohol. Which was pathetic, he knew, but right now he was feeling more than a little sorry for himself.

He was _supposed_ to be in Rome. Well, after supposing to be dead, anyway. Wasn't so, because he grew a case of cold feet when he made to accomplish that feat. Bought himself a boat ticket with the dosh he'd managed to nick from the Champ, made it to the docks and was all set to board when he did an abrupt about-face and left. Just like that. No thinking, nothing but impulse. Got in the car (also that he'd nicked from the Champ), turned up the radio to something loud and heavy and completely lacking a beat, and sped off. Threw the boat ticket out the window for good measure as he was pushing 100mph on the freeway, watching it out the rear view mirror as it danced and twisted in the wind behind him until he couldn't see it anymore.

Like he said, that was days ago. And since then he'd spent the better part of that time buried at the bottom of a bottle of alcohol.

Spike stood up, pushing himself away from the bar.

Time to rectify this lifestyle. Or amend. Make it less pathetic, because there was really only so much modern rock he could be forced to listen to while getting plastered. Didn't bars used to have juke boxes? Played all the classics? Not the case now-a-days.

"Leaving so soon?" the bartender said, making to gather all the empty bottles Spike had been collecting.

Once upon a time ago, back when he wasn't the reformed White Hat that he was now, he'd have snapped this dolt's neck for the sarcastic drawl. As it was, Spike _was_ reformed and the bloke _was_ right, so he merely settled for a glare before turning on his heels and getting the hell out of there.

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He ended up at Forehead Incorporated, his previous confines. Wolfram & Hart, and what a bloody surprise that was. Not like he had anywhere else to go.

"Great," Angel sighed when he spotted him strolling aimlessly out of the elevators. Burst of something that closely resembled pride coursed through him at that. How he loved the easy means in which his mere presence pissed the Poof off.

"And hello to you, too," Spike said, falling in step behind him. "So, what's on the agenda for today? Saving lives or breaking banks?"

"Don't you have a boat to catch?"

"Lucky for you, I've decided to stay. Looks like you can officially add me to the payroll, retroactively speaking. Means I want to be compensated from Day 1."

"I know what it means," Angel gritted out. "And you're not getting put on the payroll."

"Why the hell not? You can't seriously expect me to go at this pro bono. Sorry, Champ, not in my wiring. Least not when all your other avengers are getting paid handsomely for whatever it is they actually do around here."

Angel whirled around, and Spike had to slam on the brakes to stop himself from running into him. "Newsflash," he barked. "You're not one of my avengers! You're not getting paid!"

Spike couldn't help but smile. Which turned into full-out laughing on his part. Angel looked all pissed off and glowerly, brow drawn tightly together, and it was all a little more than ridiculous. What the hell was he looking to join Team Angel for? He had a Slayer waiting across the pond for him, one that looked decidedly better in high heels and knee socks than the Poof ever had.

"You know what?" he managed, once he finally stopped laughing. "Think you're right. Think I'll just gather up my stuff and head on out. Got a girl to see, and you're sure as hell not her."

Flick of a switch, the Champ's mood changed. Settled into something Spike almost wanted to call 'thoughtful'. He was basing this on the fact that Angel's forehead was protruding far more than usual. "So... you're going to see Buffy?" Angel asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "You're really going to Rome?"

Spike let out another low chuckle as he turned to walk away. Called out over his shoulder, "Do believe that's what I said."

"Hang on," Angel said, his voice low like he was mentally connecting the dots. Spike could perfectly envision the caveman brow furrowing as the little light bulb dimmed above his head. "Spike, we still need you here."

Spike swung back around at that. "Did I hear that right? You, the one with the Lone Ranger complex, need _me?_"

"Not when you put it like that."

"Whatever happened to your 'don't let the door hit you on the way out' sentiment you were preaching not two minutes ago? Changed your mind? Not quite ready to let me go yet?"

Angel glowered. "We still haven't worked out who the Shanshu Prophecy--"

"Bugger the Prophecy," Spike cut in, not in the mood for urban legends. "I don't want it. And even if I did, we both know who the Powers that Wank'll find fitting enough to be on the receiving end. And let's just say it's not the better looking, better dressed of the two."

The Champ looked ready to protest, but Spike was having none of that.

"Be a good little pawn and get back to work," he told him, before heading back towards the elevators.

"You can't leave, Spike!" he heard Angel yell behind him. "Spike!"

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As if Spike would oblige to anything Angel had to say. Maybe the Champ was right-- maybe Spike did have to stay and see this Prophecy through, at least until they knew that they weren't tempting fate by both being in existence. But then again, he didn't really care. If two souled vampire Champions was enough to muck up the universe, too damn bad.

The fact that he was still cruising the halls of Wolfram and Hart had absolutely nothing to do with the nonexistent possibility of Angel being right. It was more the fact that Spike had done that entirely stupid thing of tossing his previous boat ticket out the window. And he'd sort of spent whatever little money he'd had during those few drunken days of alcoholic bliss. Not exactly proud of that fact, but there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Savings funds were never his thing. More like finders keepers. Come across a wallet full of cash that just so happened to be on the dead body you'd just drained? Well, lookey there-- little extra to take care of life's twists and turns.

Wasn't the case now, being that he was, as previously mentioned, reformed. Atonement is such a bloody bitch. That sodding demon in Africa, the one who'd wired him up with the soul to begin with, should've had that as a disclaimer.

Anyways, he could bypass such bumps in the road. Spike never had a problem with borrowing (read: stealing) the Champ's stuff. Felt like he was doing him a personal favor in the process-- all that extra money and those half dozen or so cars only would've went straight to his head, and Angel was already well-off in that department. Yep, ol' Spikey was just looking out for the greater good. Which is why he headed up to Angel's apartment and relieved the Champ of a couple thousand bucks.

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Spike strolled into the science lab, pockets full and soul beaming. Just had one more thing to do, and then he'd be on his merry way, out of LA and headed for Destination Slayer. He wanted to use Fred's fancy computers to book himself a last minute ticket, not wanting to go through the hassle of arriving at the airport and having to go at it that way. And bloody right 'airport'-- Spike had gotten over the notion of doing this by boat. He'd rather not spend an entire week hankered down in the shadows of some barge, or worse, shrimp boat. Nope, the friendly skies was the way to go.

"Hey, Spike," Fred said, not bothering to look up from her clipboard. She was busy checking numbers, making sure what she had written down was matched with whatever it was she was producing out of the six or seven flasks lined up in front of her.

"'Lo, Fred," he answered back, switching his attention to the group of computers lining an entire wall of her lab. Blasted technology. He moved uneasily towards them, not knowing where to go. Probably all work the same, right? And they all looked to be turned on. So now it was just a matter of using his God-given's to figure out how exactly these things worked. He knew the basics -- wasn't entirely pathetic -- but it was connecting to the internet that he was in no way what-so-ever clued.

"Uh, Fred?" he finally ventured, when all his tapping on lettered keys amounted to a whole lot of nothing. "Little help here?"

"Sure," she said, still intent on her task. "Just give me a second, I'm trying to find out if the polyatomic attributes I keep coming up with are identical to the--"

And then he blocked her words out. Banged a few more times on the keyboard to see if he could produce anything, with no such luck. Was frustrated to the point that he was about ready to just call the whole thing off and get his ticket at the airport when Fred suddenly materialized at his side. Threw him off a bit, what with the way her arrival also coincided with the blinding flash of white that exploded behind his eyes.

"Spike?" he heard her say, her voice far off in the distance.

Bloody hell, felt like someone took a two-by-four and introduced it to the back of his skull. He hadn't had a headache like this since his days in Sunnydale, paired with that chip.

"Spike, are you okay?"

He blinked his eyes open.

It happened at an instance, this sudden realization. Like one life-altering revelation happening upon him, he knew--

Spike loved Fred.

God, but he loved her! Had to, what with the way she helped him. He popped up in the middle of Team Angel, not knowing a damn bloody soul except for the self-titled one himself, and spent the better part of the following months shifting about in a depressed state of loneliness. And Fred was the only one who ever cared. Who ever voiced any little bit of concern over his well-being.

And the concern! The care! Oh, it made his inner-William flutter. Poetry dared to be written in the presence of such a sweet beauty! It made him feel... and not that he wanted to be redundant or dredge up old, bitter memories... but _effulgent_ came to mind. A lot. Everything about her was effulgent, from the sparkle of her pearly whites to the glow of her lab coat.

"Are you okay?" she asked again, still looking concerned. "Because for a second there you looked ready to pass out."

"I'm fine," he insisted, his love for this girl bubbling infectiously inside of him.

"Okay. You wanted something?"

It took a few seconds to place what she was talking about. He wanted help from her, right. Wanted her to work her science girl mojo and get the internet to work so that he could hop on a plane and make his way to the Slayer.

But that didn't make any sense all of a sudden.

Why the hell would he want her to do that for him? For one, he wasn't even in love with Buffy anymore. Sort of got over that when she'd thrown her "I love you" at him down in the Hellmouth, figuring it was a dying man's last wish and all that rot. Please, like he needed her sugar coated sympathy? Not bloody likely. Besides, she didn't love him. She hadn't ever loved him, despite that gratuitous send off he got. Would never love him, could never love him, should never love him, had never--

Wait. He'd already mentioned that one. Can't blame a bloke for being repetitive though, especially with the way the Slayer'd beaten the same sentiment into his head time and time before. Literally, on some occasions.

His point being-- he was moving on, right this very second. Growing back his balls she'd clipped off in Sunnydale. Unwinding himself from around her little finger. Picking himself up off the floor. All proverbially speaking.

William the Bloody, back on the market!

"Spike?"

Well, not entirely on the market, being that he truly realized who he was supposed to be with in life. Fred Burkle. Pretty little science girl. Of course, it all made perfect sense.

"Fred," he purred, loving the way her name rolled off of his tongue. She was Heaven, and he was the lucky bloke standing at the pearly gates.

"Did you want something?"

"Right," he muttered, glancing at the computer, then back at her. "Was wanting to see you, actually."

"Me?" she said shyly, tucking a strand of her mousey brown hair behind her ear. "Why would you wanna see little ol' me? Unless there's some sort of side-effect with your corporeality that you're dealing with? I knew Angel should've let me run more tests on you--"

"Nothing like that," he chuckled, stopping her before she broke out the fancy gadgets. "I just wanted to see you."

"Oh." She looked confused, but forced a smile on her face. "Well. Hi, then."

God, he couldn't take it anymore. There was an inner mantra along the lines of, 'Don't say it. Don't say it, you bloody sod, don't bleeding well say it' but he quickly drowned it out. What'd it know, anyway?

"I love you!" he blurted, throwing his arms open.

She seemed surprised. He'd give her that. It's not like he wasn't a bit surprised himself.

There was a long beat that passed before she said, "You what?"

"I love you!" he repeated, and then shook his arms for emphasis. _Step into the bloody embrace!_

Her confusion shifted into awkwardness as she drew her brows together, her nose crinkling. "Well... I love you, too, Spike. I guess. In the 'we're all a bunch of friends' sense, you being one of those friends--"

She wasn't getting it, which was so bloody cute. "Not like that," he cut her off. "I _love_ you, Fred."

She laughed uncomfortably. When she saw that he wasn't joking around, a terrified flicker flashed behind her eyes. "You're not kidding, are you?"

Spike dropped his arms back to his sides. Okay, so the hugging was out. No matter, he'd done without the soft, caring feel of a woman his entire existence before, what's another notch in the belt? Used to it by now, anyway, especially coming at the heels of his never-actually-was-a-relationship with the Slayer. Only Fred didn't seem as thrilled with this revelation as he was. He was nearly bouncing on his bloody heels, ready to throw his head back and shout to the higher powers that he BLOODY LOVED THIS WOMAN!

He took a step forward, his hands itching to grab her and pull her towards him. "Never been more serious."

"Are... Are you sure?" she said, endearing little country twang in her words. Oh, how it made his dead heart flutter. "I mean, it seems awful sudden, don't you think?"

With a grin, Spike covered the few feet between them with a couple of quick strides. "'Course I'm sure. Don't be daft. I love you, Fred."

The look on her face had his smile faltering. Shouldn't she be happier about this? They were in love!

"I-- I think maybe..." She started to frown. "No, wait. This can't be right."

Now what the hell was she prattling on about? "What can't be right?"

"This! You! You don't love me, Spike."

"Course I do! Said so, didn't I? And, unlike bitchy Slayers who shall remain nameless, I mean it when I say it." He stepped closer again, blissfully unaware of the way she flinched and took a step backwards. "I _love_ you."

"Spike, you don't even know me."

"What's to know? You're beautiful," he told her, loving the way her cheeks reddened at the compliment. He glanced around them, eyes darting around the room in a quick once-over. "You work here in this lab... Got yourself one of them fancy-sized brains. Got nice clothes..." He leered down at her, taking in the bony, wired frame of her body in a manner that wasn't the least bit surreptitious. "Got _real_ nice clothes." He moved up on her now, pinning her between his body and a file cabinet. Lowered his voice a few seductive degrees. "I ever mention how much I love them skirts you wear?"

She was blushing. He could feel the blood pulsing under her skin just as plainly as he could see the deep red that flushed her cheeks. "Okay," she said, flattening her hand against his chest. The contact went and sent off a wave of pleasure that danced through his body from the heat of it, the softness of it. "That's... _sweet_, Spike, really. I'm-- I'm flattered. Really, really flattered."

"Yeah?" He moved in closer, loving the breathy, gasping noise she made at his doing so.

Just before his lips met hers, she slipped out of his grasp, leaving a very stunned vampire pressed up against a cold file cabinet. He turned around, looking at her in confusion.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "You were just getting a little close."

He frowned as he took a step towards her. "Kinda the point."

"No! See! That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I think this... thing, that you're saying? Well I don't think you really believe it. Or maybe you do and that's something else entirely, and... well, I don't want to think about that option right now because frankly it's a little disconcerting. What I'm saying is-- you're not right, Spike. You don't love me. Of course you don't love me, you don't even know me. Not that you really _need_ to know someone to be in love with them, exactly, I mean, there _are_ plenty of people who fall in love at first sight, right? Right. I think so. I mean, it's always what people are saying, so I guess it must be true--"

She was rambling. It was by far the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.

"Fred?"

There was that little tint of red on her cheeks again as she caught his eyes. "Yeah?"

"You're rambling, sweets."

And the blush deepened. "Right. Rambling." She took a deep breath. "Okay, so you know what?" she said, a little too casually. "I think I'm just gonna... go. I think I should probably get back to work. Those pesky numbers won't solve themselves."

She didn't believe him. One very strong (and centrally located) part of him wanted to grab her and kiss her until she damn well knew that what he felt was real, but another, more logical part told him he had to go at this differently. Get her to see this from his side of things. Convince her somehow. Less tell and more show. And he knew just the way to do it, which is why he relented. "Alright, pet. I'll let you get back to your chemicals and what-not."

She backed away slowly, somehow frowning and smiling at the same time. "Thanks. Erm... bye."

He watched her scamper away with a grin. He had a vague idea of how exactly he was going to convince her of his feelings. Shouldn't be too hard. He had his natural charm and, let's face, overly-abundant and more than supple good-looks working for him. That'd reel her in well enough. But he needed more than that. Needed proof that this thing, sudden or not, was real.

So, with great intent, he headed off towards Angel's office, hoping the Champ would be elsewhere.

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Angel was so damn predictable.

Spike strolled into his Foreheadness' office during one of the ritual 5 o'clock meetings that he hadn't ever been bothered with an invite to. Didn't matter anyway, as he had something else on his To Do list.

He shut the door behind him, not wanting Harmony to spot him. That would lead to, well, Harmony spotting him. And then she'd invite herself in and make herself useless by attaching herself to his side like some sorta parasite. He was better working this one solo.

Shuffling through the the files located in the unlocked second drawer of the Champ's desk, Spike searched for what he was looking for. A name, an address, a whereabout-- something that was familiar. Something he needed. He skimmed documents, flipping through pages, until he found it. Buffy Summers, c/o Rome, Italy. And right under the name was the Slayer's number, scrawled out in that girly scribble that was Angel's handwriting.

Spike always loved a challenge, but even more than that he liked when things were handed to him on a silver platter. Finding her number turned out to be a lot easier than he'd first thought it'd be.

He made himself cozy in the big, fancy leather chair at the brunt of Angel's desk, swinging his legs to rest on top of the wood. Took a moment to bask in the feel of it. He hoped, for a split second, that maybe the Poof himself would walk in and find him like this. Spike, with his feet propped on top of Angel's desk, combat boots just resting carelessly on top of all sorts of important documents. But then he remembered that he was here for a purpose and, right now, that purpose wasn't pissing off his elders. Pity that.

Leaning forward, he plucked the phone off its cradle. Dialed the number he'd found before relaxing back into the seat, enjoying the way the leather crinkled in his ear. This was a good chair. Soft, cozy, pliable. Could see why Angel liked it so much.

The ringing picked up and he silenced his thoughts, holding his proverbial breath.

"Hello?"

"'Lo, Buffy?"

He was met with a long stretch of silence on the other end, and Spike contemplated banging the phone against something hard and sturdy. Bloody connection. Probably because the Poof was cutting corners and going with the bad service. Always was a bloody cheap--

"Spike?"

Oh! Finally.

"Right. Yeah. So, how are things?"

"Things are-- I mean... what?"

"That's great! Got a little trip planned for you, Slayer. I want you to pack an overnight and hail yourself a cab. Go to--"

"Wait, wait-- hang on a minute. Spike, is that you?"

Spike sighed. Sure, let's make this conversation as painful as possible. "Bloody hell. Yes, it's me."

"I don't understand... I thought-- you're dead."

"And she remains observant as ever."

"What?"

"Nothing. Did you hear what I was saying before? Pack a bag, Slayer, you're needed in LA."

"Okay, I'm sorry, but life-altering stuff going on here. Gimme a minute to grasp the fact that I'm actually talking to you. Spike, how are you... alive? Back? Not dust-in-the-wind?"

Spike craned his neck to the side, cracking it. Wouldn't do to hang up on the bitch, being that he needed her company here. He reminded himself that a few dozen different times before responding. "Slayer, we don't have time for this, alright? You'll find out soon enough."

After a quick explanation in which he rambled off directions for her to follow that were repeated a couple of times before she finally understood, Spike hung up. Everything was falling perfectly into place. Finding the number. The call to Rome. Slayers on the move right this very instant and getting on planes directed to LA.

Only a few more things left to do, and then Fred would know.

Brilliant.

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Same time the next day, Spike was at LAX.

He waited at Gate C, bouncing up and down on the heels of his combat booted-feet, trying to spot the golden glow of Buffy's hair. Couldn't see over all the bloody people, and the fact that she was so damn short wasn't helping. Besides, it was sodding LA-- everyone had bottle-produced glowy hair.

He took up pacing, deciding that he'd probably have more luck on the move than standing in one place. And he was right. Only took a few minutes until he saw her. She came pouring out of a crowd of people, small suitcase clutched tight to her chest as she looked around. No doubt was looking for him. And when she spotted him, the look she gave him would've nearly had him drowning if it was a look Fred would've given him. Happiness. Pure and utter happiness.

Spike shook off the twitchy feelings that came from being on the receiving end of it. It didn't feel right, her looking at him like that. He surged forward, duster flapping at the heels of his boots, until he was in front of her. And she was still smiling that bright, blinding smile. He wish she'd stopped.

"Spike," she said, and it came out all breathy and dazed.

He spared her a quick glance, frowning. "Slayer," he said as a reply, more for obligations sake. Took hold of the bag she was reluctant to give up (sodding Slayer and her damned independence) and started to move towards the exit. He knew she was confused by his abruptness but he really had no desire to sit and play the tedious game of catch up with her.

She was at his heels, trying hard to keep up with his fast strides. He weaved in and out of the crowd, feeling her behind him with every heightened sense in his body. Could _feel_ those confused glances she kept throwing his way, could hear the little sounds she kept making as she toddled along behind him, desperate to not fall too far behind.

When they eventually managed to make it out through the winding doors and into the brisk night air, she finally got him to stop. More like grabbed his elbow and gave it a good yank that had him jerking to a standstill.

They stood there for a few seconds, eyeing each other, her breathing heavily as she took the time to catch her breath.

"What's with the rush?" she finally said, when the silence turned uncomfortable. She looked like she was trying to keep control of the situation. Slayer-mode, present and accounted for. "We dealing with an Apocalypse here? Because those usually have a tendency to wait until I show up on the scene to start."

So damn cocky. Made him sick. "Nothing like that," he mumbled, breaking away from the strong hold of her eyes to stare off into the distance. Anywhere but at her, because he sure as hell wasn't in the mood to be reminded of anything even remotely resembling what they once had. And her staring at him, well, it reminded him of what they once had. And he didn't bloody like it.

"You're not even gonna say hello?"

He nearly rolled his eyes. Was he supposed to fall to his knees at the little tremble of vulnerability in her voice?

Instead of voicing her demands, he continued on his way. Gotta get out of the public. Gotta get to the car... get to the car, then everything falls into place from there. Just like he planned.

She was following him again, though he could tell she was pissed at him for dodging her question. Good. It was familiar.

"So back-from-the-dead you is kind of a jerk," she said, all hoity-toity.

He snorted. Couldn't help it.

"Can you at least slow down? I'm wearing heels, Spike. As in 'I'm so glad I don't actually _need_ to feel my toes'--"

He spun around and popped her in the nose. No real force behind it, but she was caught off guard. Flash of anger danced behind her eyes for a flicker of a second, but the effect was lost as her eyelids fluttered shut and she slumped forward. Spike caught her as she passed out, more than pleased with how he handled the situation. Giving the area around them a quick once-over to make sure no prying eyes were there to stand as witnesses, he stuck her suitcase under his right arm before hauling her limp body towards him.

Still a light-weight.

He half-carried, half-dragged her over to his car, tossing the suitcase onto the roof of it while he dug around his pant pockets with his free hand, searching for his keys. Found them, clicked the little mechanical button and unlocked the doors, and stuffed the unconscious Slayer into the passenger side. Slid her seatbelt over her-- safety first, after all. Whistled as he kicked the door shut and made his way to the driver's side, grabbing the suitcase before slipping into the car as well. Stole a look at the knocked out bitch to his right, grinned, and gave a twist of the wrist as the car purred to life.

Damn, was he good? Bloody right he was.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Buffy saw when she came to was darkness. Well, no wonder there, being that her eyes were still closed. She didn't really want to open them though, because she could already tell that wherever she was was well-lit and really, really bright, if the white splotches dancing behind her closed eyelids were any indication. Her head stung, her throat was dry and sore. God, she needed a drink. Preferably a strong one, and ohh-- maybe with a cute little umbrella?

It all came rushing back to her in one gut-wrenching, stomach-clenching way. Why she was just coming to, why there was anything to be coming _from_-- Spike. The son-of-a-bitch had popped her in the nose! While she was a little embarrassed that such a cheap, flimsy shot could render her unconscious, that emotion quickly got pushed aside from the resulting rush of anger that spread through her body. Spike hit her. He actually hit her! He was acting like a big ol' jerk from the second she saw him, and while it was perfectly normal for them to dance around each other on egg shells, he'd been acting different.

Gee, ya think?

First things first, she needed to get a good grip on her surroundings. She tugged a little on her hands, only to find that her wrists were bound. Okay, so that probably wasn't good. She wasn't going to panic though. He probably tied them for... precautions! Right, because as soon as she got free she was going to kick his bony white ass. And, hey, did she mention the fact that he was supposed to be dead! Yeah, so now she had two reasons to beat him up-- his casual way of relaying his 'hey, not dead anymore!' news to her, and this. Which had to fall somewhere under kidnapping. Wrists tied together with _something_, knocked unconscious...

Great job, Buffy. Hop on a plane, fly half-way around the world, and fall straight into a trap! Sure, because you couldn't at all have asked, "Gee, Spike, did you come back evil?"

Stupid impulsive decisions.

"Wakey, wakey."

She immediately stiffened at Spike's voice. He was close. Real close. Her Slayer senses were going haywire, especially with her eyes still squeezed shut. She didn't want to open them, didn't want to make this a reality. Nope, this wasn't real. She was dreaming. At home, in Rome. She's buried beneath a mountain of covers, pillow flung over her head to block out the sound of Saturday morning cartoons blaring from the next room over. Stupid Andrew. And why hadn't she kicked him out yet? Denial!Buffy didn't have an answer, but it didn't matter, because at least denial!Buffy wasn't held captive by a could-possibly-be-really-evil vampire.

"I know you're awake."

Crap! Crap crap crap. Stupid vampire senses.

Her eyes flew open, just as she started to tug on her wrists. Whatever was wrapped around them wouldn't budge, and the first thing she noticed was Spike. Standing just in front of her, huge grin on his face. Her eyes darted to the left where she saw another girl. His smile seemed to grow as he noticed where her attention had shifted, but he side-stepped, blocking the girl from her view. The girl who was also bound against something. She was chained... pair of handcuffs, attached to a file cabinet.

Buffy was starting to get a strong sense of deja vu.

"Sleep well?"

Her attention shifted solely back to him. He looked cocky, all thin-lipped and wide-eyed.

"Spike, what are you doing?"

"Nuh uh," he tsked, his smile fading into a frown. "You know better than to ask questions."

"Cut the cryptic and untie me before I give into the overwhelming urge to kick your ass."

Her words brought the grin back, this time it looking a little colder. "Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He stepped forward, his boot kicking into the tip of her shoe. She sucked in a deep breath, resisting the urge to turn her head sideways and avoid his gaze. Instead she kept her eyes locked with his, trying to read his face.

"Spike," she finally said, not being able to help it. She weakened under his intense stare, the silence that'd been surrounding them too deafening to take. She hadn't seen him in months. Hadn't really thought about him in as long.

"I've wondered," he said, as if he hadn't heard her, "for so long... why exactly I loved you." He chuckled, though there was no humor in it. His eyes were cold. "You were always a bitch to me, you know that? Even with the soul."

Okay, so that hurt. And it sparked a flame of guilt. "I know--"

"You know? Do you? Because I don't think you really do, Slayer. Do you know why I loved you?"

Loved, loved. He kept saying loved. "No," she croaked out.

He laughed again, ducking his head down. Almost looked shy, almost looked familiar. But then it whipped back upwards, all previous traces of humor wiped clean. "Funny thing is... neither do I. Can't even remember why, or _how_. I think about it now... and you know what I feel?"

She swallowed. She didn't want to know, especially if the way he was staring at her was any indication. She didn't answer, and he took another step forward, stepping in between the small space between her legs.

"Don't feel a bloody _thing_. Not a thing, Slayer." His hard look softened a little, and his eyes shifted from hers to her lips. "Remember some things... remember liking the way you tasted. The way you felt... all warm and soft." His voice was low, but he wasn't talking to her. He was talking to himself, lost in his own memories. "Remember... remember--" His eyes squeezed shut, and he looked pained, like he was trying to grasp for something that he couldn't quite reach. Frustrated, they flew back open and landed on hers. "Doesn't matter," he gritted out. "Don't feel it now."

She opened her mouth to say something, but the sound of movement in front of her drew her focus off of Spike. Drew his off of her, too, and he pulled off of her body and slid away.

"Fred," he said, breathing the word out.

Buffy looked in shock at the back of Spike's head as he made his way across the room to the other girl. Watched for a few disbelieving seconds the way he moved-- the panther-like strut, the slight movement of his arms, the flow of his duster.

"Spike," the girl mumbled, obviously dealing with heaping amounts of confusion. Yeah, well, join the team.

This was familiar though. This was freakishly familiar, and the deja vu thing kept pulling at Buffy's memory. Why was this so familiar? The two tied up females, Spike, the pathetic and desperate feel in the air.

Oh my god. Of course-- Spike, with the chains and the drawings and the Drusilla! A memory she'd thought she'd had burned forever from her brain. Spike's lame attempt to convince her he loved her. God, if she wasn't so pissed off she would've actually found this pretty hilarious.

Except, hang on. Why was he heading towards Lab Science Barbie over there? Hello, headachy and grumpy over here, tied to a freaking pole! Or something. Buffy twisted her head behind her to see what it was she was forced to get friendly with. Something painted white and shaped like a cylinder that went from the floor to the ceiling. Great, a column. She tugged at her wrists, but either the rope was too tight or the column too thick because they didn't budge.

Buffy's focus shifted again to Spike, sending him a withering glare. Which he would've saw had his attention not been focused on someone else entirely.

"Hello, a little help here," Buffy said, wiggling her body for emphasis. "Blood flow is becoming an issue."

Spike didn't bother with an acknowledgement, which hurt far more than Buffy would've liked to have admitted. The other girl seemed surprised at Buffy's presence, and Buffy resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the shocked face she was met with. Before she could let loose a quip, the mousey girl's attention was back on Spike.

"Spike," she said, and Buffy decided immediately that she hated this girl. Something in the way she talked. Really, who sounded like they're three? "What happened? Why am I tied up? And why is she tied up? And why are you staring at me like that?"

"Oh, oh-- I know!" Buffy offered, trying to peer around the big ball of white that was Spike's head to meet the girl's eyes.

"Could do without the color commentary," she heard Spike say, all without him bothering to turn around.

"Yeah, and I could do without the lame reenactments."

"Fred," Spike continued, as if she was the only one in the world. And Buffy didn't at all feel the painful twinge of jealousy at hearing him speak so softly to her. "I can't stop thinking about you."

"Spike," the other girl chuckled nervously. "Is this about before? Really, you didn't have to... oh God, you tied me up. I'm not sure--"

"Listen, this is fun, really," Buffy interrupted, voice nine different kinds of indifferent and bored. "But can we cut to commercials and redo the scene?" When she got no response, she hardened her voice, trying again for good measure to free her wrists. "Spike, I don't know what the _hell_ you're playing at, but it stops now."

He finally turned around, his unamused eyes zeroing in on hers. "What's the matter, Slayer? Annoyed the attention's not on you for once?"

To deny how very close that hit to home, Buffy tossed a few loose strands of hair behind her shoulder. "How about the fact that I don't even know who you are right now! Are you _crazy_? I mean, seriously, Spike, because when Angel first came back--"

"Angel," Spike cut her off, blowing the word out with his breath. "Still hung up on the Almighty Forehead, I see."

"Or _maybe_ I was trying to point out the fact that you've lost it?" She lowered her voice a little, this whole situation just a little too scary and surreal to keep the show of bravado up for too long. "Why are you doing this, Spike?"

"Trying," he enunciated thinly, "to prove a bloody point, but you keep blathering in the background."

"Excuse me," the other woman softly cut in, pulling Spike's attention back to her. "I don't mean to interrupt y'all, but I'm sort of having trouble dealing with the fact that I'm handcuffed to my filing cabinet. And I'm sorry, you seem like a very lovely girl, but I don't know who you are."

"I'm Buffy. AKA the person who will _very_ soon be kicking Spike's ass. Pleasure!"

"Okay," the girl said, frowning, looking no less clued in. "But I still don't understand why I'm here. Like _this_." Her attention went back to Spike, and she lowered her voice a little. "Spike, you're scaring me."

He moved in quick, Buffy watched, and his hand went to cup the girl's cheek. Buffy started to tug on her wrists, desperate to break free, as Spike tried to comfort the girl.

"Not trying to scare you," she could hear him, just barely. "I just wanted to prove to you that this - what I feel - it's real. Realer than it's ever been."

Buffy rolled her eyes. Please, how lame did that sound? It had to sound lame to more than just her.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he continued softly, making Buffy cringe. It was too familiar. Way, way too familiar, to the point that it nagged at her insides. Something here wasn't right. Spike was, well, clearly crazy and in need of some good clinical help-- but not like this. This was like a page out of her diary, complete with the same wiggy-type feelings she'd had that first time around. Only there was a not-so-nice added layer there being that those same words he'd uttered to her, that same look of intense devotion, was now focused on someone else entirely. "You're all I bloody think about, dream about."

The girl looked absolutely horrified. A small, tiny amount of happiness wedged its way into Buffy's current wide range of emotions. At least she knew this girl wasn't falling for whatever Don Juan attempt Spike was pulling. Again.

"Spike," the girl started, and her voice was actually trembling. "Please don't do this."

"Spike," Buffy couldn't help but agree. "You do realize how charming all this actually _isn't_, right?"

She saw his head lift upwards, like he was trying hard to reel in his frustration. Oh, didn't want to lose his cool in front of the new girl. How _sweet_. He turned around quick, aiming a level stare in Buffy's direction.

"C'mon," she continued, pleased with having his attention. "The repeat performance? If you're gonna try and win a girl over, at least be original."

"Careful there, Slayer," he said lowly, cooly. "A bloke might think you were jealous."

"So what if I am?" she shot back. He looked ready to say something, but she barrelled on. "What the hell is going on, Spike? Why are we reliving page 122 out of my diary? Except in reverse?"

"Like I said," he gritted out.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm blather-girl," she cut him off flippantly. "Whatever. Still doesn't explain anything. Like, oh, I don't know-- why my big 'Spike's alive!' party includes festivities of the handcuffed-to-a-pole kind."

There was some heavy mental grasping that, quite frankly, _wasn't_. Nothing about this situation made sense, from Spike's very presence, to her playing Drusilla in this little remake of the past. Any second now Ashton Kutcher was going to burst in from some side exit, camera crew in tow as he yelled "Punk'd!" Or Candid Camera. Or something in the same department.

She waited.

Okay, maybe not _this_ second.

"I'm gonna prove it to you," Spike said, his attention back on You Ever Actually Heard Of A Calorie? that apparently went by the name 'Fred'. "That this, what I feel, is real."

Oh! Buffy knew this part! This is where he gets all super dramatic and swoops up a stake and stalks his way over to her!

Except that didn't make sense, Buffy not exactly being a member of the Undead.

Before she could further question how Spike was going to prove this supposedly real feelings he felt for Fred, the door to the left swung open. Angel came staggering in, eyes wide.

"Spike," he said, as a general observation. "Fred. And Buffy." He did a double-take. "Wait, Buffy?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "And now that you know who we all are, do you mind untying me?"

"Bloody hell."

Buffy shot Spike a deadly glare, daring him, _praying_ that he'd be suicidal enough to protest. He caught the tone and sulked his way over to Fred, producing a set of keys out of his coat pocket. Buffy watched him for only a few painful seconds until Angel's sudden presence in front of her distracted her attention away.

"Uh, this might be a stupid question," Angel ventured lowly, tugging at the rope wound tightly around her wrists. "But why are you tied up? And why is Fred handcuffed to the filing cabinent? And not that I'm not glad you're here-- but why _are_ you here?"

Buffy flexed her wrists once Angel had them freed, wincing from the pain. "That you have to ask Spike. Word of advice? Do it quick, because I'm about two seconds away from staking him."

Angel turned to where Buffy was staring. Spike was freeing Fred, all soft-spoken and reassuring words and gentle touches.

"Fred?"

Fred pulled away from Spike. Quickly. She darted across the room, putting as much distance between herself and Psycho Spike as possible. He didn't seem to notice. Or, if he did, he didn't seem to care.

"Spike is evil," she whispered lowly in conspiracy once she'd joined Buffy and Angel. "He chained me up and tied her up, and before, I didn't want to mention it because I was hoping I'd just dreamt the whole thing, but he was saying he loved me--"

"He what?" Angel interrupted. And Buffy was glad he did so, because she was very close to having blurted those same very words out herself.

"Exactly!" Fred hissed. She was trying to keep quiet, though Buffy knew Spike could hear every word of their conversation. Hello, he was standing across the room, one eye brow pointed skyward. He was listening. And he was amused. "It's all just a little quick to my liking, and I tried to tell him that yesterday. He didn't mention it today and I thought maybe he'd gotten over it, but apparently he was just in planning mode. One minute I'm calculating the molecular number of polytrons in the DNA of that demon you'd brought in, and the next thing I know I'm waking up, hog-tied--"

"Hey!" Spike finally cut in, looking and sounding outraged. "I was a little more gentle than that, I'll have you know."

"The fact that you had us _both_ knocked out sort of kills your credibility," Buffy explained dryly.

"He knocked you out?" Angel asked, confused.

"Yeah! It was all, 'Oh, fly to LA, we need you', POP IN THE NOSE! And then I'm tied up, _here_, and he's playing the crazy card--"

"Okay, something's wrong here," Angel cut in.

Buffy's jaw dropped. "Ya think! I mentioned the crazy card, right?"

"Dont know what you all are talking about," Spike drawled, sauntering across the room to join their huddle. "I was only trying to prove to Fred--"

"That you're in love with her, we got it," Buffy cut him off. "I think now-a-days they have cards for that. Friendly, non-violent ones that _don't_ include ex-girlfriends."

"Well excuse me for falling back onto what I know! And it's not like I have any bit of money, your boyfriend here won't shell out a sodding penny!"

"My _boyfriend_!"

"That's really not the issue right now, is it?" Angel, the voice of reason, said.

Point taken, but Buffy was still pissed. She had a headache, her wrists stung. Her nose was sore... which brought up a whole other point. "I can't believe you hit me!" she all but yelled, doing her best to keep calm.

Spike looked entirely pleased with himself. "Poetic justice, if you ask me." Off Buffy's look of complete and utter disbelief, mixed in with added confusion, he added, "It's your favorite brand of torment! Pop ol' Spike in the nose, 'cause sure, defang him, might as well strip away his sense of smell, too!"

"You see?" Buffy said, wide eyes back on Angel. "Clearly he's crazy--"

"Spike's not crazy," Angel cut her off dismissively. "Well, he _is_, but not in the sense that you're talking about. I mean, he hasn't been... he's not-- what was the question again?"

"It wasn't a question, it was a me-telling-you that Spike is crazy. Think about it, Angel. When you first came back from that hell dimension, you weren't exactly the poster boy for sanity."

"Nice little theory you got there," Spike drawled. "Except, oh yeah, I wasn't _in_ hell. And I haven't 'first come back'. Or, I have. I did. Just not right now."

Buffy blinked in confusion. "Huh?"

"Spike," Angel started to explain, somewhat reluctantly. "He's been back. For a while. And, yeah, initially maybe he might've been crazy--"

"Hey! I'll have you know I was perfectly lucid."

"_But_ he's not now. At least I don't think so."

"Did you _miss_ the big rescue scene! I was _tied_ up in the middle of the room! Unconcious--"

"Me, too," Fred added, faltering a little under the glare Buffy shot her. "Sorry, it's just... you were all hellbent and righteous and, well, I was tied up, too."

Angel just looked flat out confused. "I don't get it. Why would Spike tie you two up?"

"Do you people realize I'm standing here in front of you? I can handle a question or two."

"Fine, _Spike_, why'd you tie them up?"

Spike balked. "Right, well. Seemed like a good idea at the time..."

"Good?" Buffy echoed disbelievingly, resisting the overwhelming urge to reach inside her comfy jean jacket and pull out the emergency stake secured underneath. "It was stupid the first time, what _exactly_ do you think that makes try number two!"

"Let's just calm down," Angel suggested, serving as the voice of reason and tranquility. "We have a problem, we'll fix it."

"Oh, so now I'm a problem?" Spike snorted, more than a little offended. "Just typical. I thought this was what you wanted, you know! _Got to see about a sodding Prophecy, can't bugger the great bloody scales._"

"What's he talking about, Angel?"

"I... He's..."

"You wanted me to stay in LA, and here I am! Forgive me, oh Brooding One, for finding a reason to do so! And _you_," he said, casting a glare in Buffy's direction. "Like you have any say in this? I was through being your lap dog the second I popped outta that amulet, and yet, here you are, acting all outraged and offended that ol' Spike grew himself a pair!"

While Buffy's first reactions were to sputter and gape, the denying words stayed trapped in her throat, refusing to be voiced. Spike sounded all hostile and-- _lapdog?_ Please! If there was any _lapping_ going on by Spike, it was of his own doing!

"I told you to stay," Angel agreed. "I didn't think--" And then he trailed off, getting this 'oh shit!' look on his face. The guilty one. The one that said he knew exactly what was wrong with this whole freaky-beyond-belief scenario because he was more than likely the one behind said wrongness.

"This can't be good," Fred mumbled, noticing The Look.

"Angel?" Buffy hesitantly said.

And then their three sets of heads turned towards Spike, who took a step back at the attention.

His forehead wrinkled, his eyes narrowed. "What?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Explain it again to me... you did _what_ to Spike?"

Buffy stood near the large, specially enhanced office window, her hands folded across her chest in an 'I mean business, piss me off and lose an extremity' manner. Spike was sprawled out on the couch to her right, reclined and comfortable. Angel sat at the head of his big, fancy desk, looking defensive and not the least bit apologetic.

"Yeah," Spike drawled, leaning his head back a little. Now that he was all able-minded and free-thinking, his feelings for Fred had diminished back to what they originally were: respect, admiration, and a tad bit of that lingering lust. Not his bloody fault though-- cold and dead, not blind. And, admittedly, the girl was pretty. "Give it to us again," he cheerily said. "Tell us how you fabricated things to your liking."

Angel and Spike glared at each other for a long second before Angel relented. He breathed out deeply, all puffed up and manly, and his attention went to Buffy. "To be fair, I didn't know _that_ would happen."

"Gee, and that just makes everything alright," Spike broke in dryly, his mood darkening. "You were still tampering with bits and pieces you had no right tampering with. Namely my bits and pieces and-- Hang on. That didn't come out right."

Angel ignored the innuendo, leaning forward in his chair. "I didn't want you skipping off to Rome without things getting resovled around here first. That's it."

"Didn't want me to get to Buffy, you mean. And I don't skip."

"No," he forcefully denied. Then he let out another deep breath. "Okay, somewhat yes. But not all of it."

"And you couldn't have just asked him to stay?" Buffy, bless her obliviousness, asked.

Angel shot Buffy a long, holding look. "You do realize who Spike actually is, right? I asked him to stay. He wouldn't."

"Sitting right here, thank you. And you never asked. _Demanded_, maybe, like I was one of your beck-and-calls."

"Spike, you were gonna bolt! We needed you here. You knew that and you didn't care. I did what I had to, given the circumstances."

Buffy's interest peeked at that. "Circumstances?"

"Shanshu," Angel clarified, with a dismissive shrug of his shoulder. "Things here were crazy, Buffy, and it was because _Spike_ popped himself back into the real world."

"He what?"

Spike blew out a frustrated breath. "I'm still here, you know. It's not just the two lovebirds playing catch-up. And whatever happened with the package o'corporeality, it wasn't my doing. You can think the powers of Fed Ex for that."

"Okay, you see this?" Buffy said, circling her hand around her head. "This is my confused face. Means you explain. Preferably _now_."

"Since you asked so nicely..."

"Spike," Buffy warned.

His lips curled upwards in a small smile, but it lasted only a second. "Few months ago I got popped back here."

"Few months," Buffy repeated, mentally backtracking the dates in her head. "That was around the time we..."

"Yeah. Around the time exactly. Got popped back here, and what do you know? Powers have themselves a sense of humor after all. I came back a sodding _ghost_."

"A _ghost_?" Okay, so she was bordering on dangerous lines of a parrot impression, but she was having trouble grasping this entire conversation.

"Casper, in his not-so-friendliest," Spike explained on a released breath. "I haunted the place for a few weeks, blah blah, sands of our time, etc etc. And then all of a sudden I get a box in the mail. Normal box, only minus the fun little flashing mojo it came with."

"Package o'corporeality?"

"Right," he said, smiling faintly. "That would be the one. And that's where the Champ here gets his frills-and-lace all in a twist. Seems with me back in the picture, the two of us were setting off some sorta Emergency Broadcasting what's-it..."

Buffy frowned, trying hard to connect things. Failing miserably.

Angel sighed. "Spike. Big picture. _Bad._"

Well that simplified things up, explaining a _whole lot of nothing_.

"What the Poof here is trying to say-- I set off some buggering cosmic alarm system. Two vampires with a soul, both donning the title of 'Champion'? World's not prepared for that. 'Least that was the drivel Angel's girl Friday had us believing."

"The point being," Angel cut in sharply. "If he was in Rome, like he was trying to head off to, things here go bad. Bad to the point that I can't do my job. I wasn't going to let that happen just because he was trying to be difficult."

"So you just decided: hey, I know! The _best_ solution is to alter his mind a little! Side-effects be damn!" Buffy glared. Hard.

"Well, when you put it like that..."

"How else is there to put it, Angel? I can't believe you would do something like that. Without him _knowing?_"

"It was temporary!" he shot back, clearly not liking the side she was taking. "It would've worn off eventually, even if I didn't find you guys. And it wasn't supposed to be like that-- he was supposed to forget about you, just for a little while. That's it. Then we fix our problem here, the spell wears off, and he's gone. That's how it was supposed to go."

There was a short silence that filled the room, awkward and uncomfortable.

Spike was mostly amused. The spell had been lifted after they'd been found, after Angel nearly had to drag Spike away from Fred to get him to cooperate. Not his fault though. Self-proclaimed love's bitch, alright? When Spike fell, he fell hard. And that spell that'd been casted on him made sure he'd fallen damn hard, much to the point that all he could think, feel, damn near taste was the Science Girl.

Of course that had all dried up the second the spell ended, replaced almost immediately (and not the least bit pathetically) with his feelings for Buffy.

Buffy, who'd looked amazingly pissed throughout the whole ordeal.

And unlike the removing of those false feelings for Fred, there was no forgetting spell. Spike remembered every last detail, straight through to picking Buffy up at the airport and knocking her out. And he just _knew_ that that little happening was eventually going to come back and bite him in the ass.

The one good thing that was coming out of the situation, as far as Spike could tell, was that a good amount of her anger was directed not at him, but at the great big forehead that'd caused the whole thing to begin with. Hard not to gloat when those beady Slayer eyes were staring down someone else in that familiar look of near-lashing out. Buffy was upset, and it thrilled Spike to no end that part of her anger was because Angel had fucked him over. Meant some part of her cared about him, at least enough to get pissed on his behalf.

"Right," Spike finally said, pleasant as can be. "Now that the Champ's done playing out his God complex, we free to leave? Or you got other plans? Maybe want to make that bush talk a little, sorta sprout some fire? Or I hear there's a big flood coming--"

"Spike," Angel sighed, all dramatic and stern-like. "We haven't solved anything. Nothing's changed."

"Remind me again why that's my problem."

"Spike," only this time it was Buffy doing the name-sighing.

"What?" he snapped in disbelief, all but gaping at her. He thrust a thumb in the general direction of the ponce behind the desk. "Please tell me you're not actually agreeing with Forehead in Charge here."

"Look at the big picture," she insisted, her folded arms slowly loosening to drop to her sides.

"Yeah, the one where _I don't care_. I told you-- Angel's little secretary was just playing the two of us for fools. Spinning webs that overly gelled flies pathetically fall right into the trap of. The Shanshu?" he said, rising up and off of the couch. "All a bunch of bollocks. And as far as the cautionary tale about the two souled vampires both fighting for a reward, both buggering up the great bloody scales in the process, I could really care less about."

"Spike," she said again, only this time her voice was that measured and calculated version of calm. The one she used all them times to give her fancy, long-winded speeches, meant for him to pay close attention. "I don't even know what this prophecy _is_."

"You mean besides a sham?"

Buffy looked completely unamused. After a few seconds of heated staring, she shied her attention away from Spike and back over to Angel. "Care to explain?"

Spike sighed dramatically and sank back onto the couch, making sure to make as much noise as possible in doing so. What he wouldn't give to be completely indifferent to this whole conversation, but when it came to Buffy... he was there. Throw Angel into the mix and it just upped his interest, tenfold.

"There's a prophecy," Angel reluctantly started, "about a vampire with a soul."

"Catchy," Buffy quipped.

"The vampire plays a pivotal part in the apocalypse, and when he dies, he's rewarded."

"Rewarded how?" she slowly asked back. "Congratulations, here's a lifetime supply of Vitaball?"

"Humanity, Buffy. The vampire gets rewarded with humanity."

"I see." Her gaze jumped from Angel to Spike. "And lemme guess... this prophecy is big with the cryptic and vague?"

"To put it lightly."

"And here's where I stop caring," Spike sighed.

"What do you mean?" Buffy asked him, temper barely being controlled.

He surged off the couch once again. "It's a _prophecy_, for fucks sake! If you think I'm gonna get worked up over the latest issue of How To Keep Angel In Line, you're off your nut. Besides," he said, taking a few hesitant steps towards her. "We both know the truth of it-- even if this thing was real, it's not about me. It's about the Golden Boy. Your... do-gooding, law-fighting, crime-biting superhero." Spike shrugged, grumbling, "As it should be. I don't want the bloody thing."

Buffy looked blankly between Spike and Angel. "That's what this is about? You made him think he was in love with another woman just so you could work out the kinks in some _prophecy?_"

Angel slowly rose from his desk, mostly reluctant. "It's a big deal--"

"It's a prophecy, Angel!" she cut him off, whirling that fierce yet amazingly compact body around to offer him the full spectrum of her glare. "You've been around for _how_ long? You should know that those things are pretty damn pointless."

"Not this one," he insisted tightly.

"Fine," she huffed. "Say you're right. Say this prophecy is true. How does that make what you did to Spike okay?"

"I didn't say it did! Look, I'm sorry that it happened, but I'm _not_ apologizing for doing what I thought was right. You weren't here the past couple of days, Buffy, so don't come stomping into _my_ job and _my_ life to criticize me for things you know nothing about!"

"And whose fault is that? Oh, I'm sorry, I must've missed all those telephone calls you sent my way!"

"Or maybe you were just too busy playing the self-righteous routine?" he barked back. "The phone line connects both ways, but... _that's_ funny. The only call I ever got from you was a drop-by relay of what went down in Sunnydale, and you blasting me for working at Wolfram and Hart."

Buffy stood her ground, looking like a snake all coiled tight and set to attack. "How _dare_ you--"

"This is my life, Buffy! This is where I am. If you don't like it, _fine_, but I stopped looking for your approval years ago."

"What does my _approval_ have to do with anything?" She shook her head in disbelief, taking a few steps back until she was lined up with Spike. "You know what? You're absolutely right. This is your life. Make your choices, run your business-- but when you start messing with the people I care about, I get involved."

If Spike hadn't been smiling when the whole blow-up had originally started, he was now. Painfully so, and in a smug way that he wasn't at all trying to hide from either Buffy or Angel. But there was Buffy standing at his side, chockful of support, and there was the Poof on the opposite side, getting a good seeing to. Not that he'd willingly volunteer to undergo another round with someone else messing with his mind or his feelings, but damn if it wasn't worth seeing Angel cower in the corner like a well-disciplined dog.

"I just wanted to see things through," Angel defended, only placating this time.

"Then maybe you shouldn't have resorted to using a spell. FYI? They never go the way you want them to. And even if they did, you don't have that kind of _right_ to use them on people."

"I know," he said, inching forward, looking like a kicked puppy. "It was a last resort."

"It was bloody stupid," Spike finally sounded. Off the looks given by both Buffy and Angel, Spike's brow furrowed. "What? It was! And it was intrusive, too. Personally, I'm feeling violated."

"Violated?" Angel scoffed. "You had feelings for Fred for all of two days! That hardly counts as a violation."

"Yeah, in your deluded world, maybe. Stop skipping past the part where you _made_ me have feelings for her, and it starts to look a little less white and lot more black."

"Okay, so I screwed up!" Angel defended, arms folding defensively across his chest. "I said I was sorry, what more do you want?"

"Think my hurt feelings merit a little more than an apology, Champ."

Angel's eyes immediately locked with Spike's. "You're not getting the Viper."

"Oh, come on! You've got six others just like it sitting prettily in your big fancy garage--"

"So take one of those!"

"I don't _want_ one of those. I want the Viper."

"Which is really too bad, because you're not getting it."

Spike flung himself forward. "You cheap sodding bastard!"

"If you think I'm just gonna hand over the keys--"

"Damn right I do!"

"--you've got another thing coming, Spike. That's _my_ car--"

"That came handed over by the Big Evil Corporation? Oh, _congratulations_ on a job well done, you pathetic wanker. What'd you do to earn it, anyway? Barter a baby or two? _Or_, lemme guess: it came bonus with the luxury suite and fully furnished office? Sort of a congratulatory fruit basket, only minus the apples and pears?"

Buffy shoved her way in between the two, who'd managed to come chest to chest with each other. "Can we not start up World War III over a car? Please?"

"It's the principle of the matter," Spike grumbled, taking a few steps back. Proximity with Buffy was good, but proximity with Buffy and Angel together just reminded him of older, not-so-pleasant times and damn if he was going to feel like a third wheel in what must past for some happy, romantic reunion for the two.

"How is there even any matter to begin with?" Angel wondered. "The Viper has always been mine--"

"After Team Evil signed it over to you, you mean?"

"There's no matter!" Angel argued.

"Just like you to say that," Spike huffed.

"Guys? Again with the fighting over a car."

"Well it's a damn good car! And I think after falling victim to Angel's little mindrape, I should at least be saddled up with something nice and shiny. Hey! What do you know? The _Viper's_ nice and shiny."

"Fine," Angel growled, stalking forward. "Take it. Take two of them. Hell, take all of them, I don't care. Just get out of my office, get out of the building, get out of the country--"

"You're giving us your _blessing?_" Spike couldn't help but mock.

Angel flung his office door open, and with barely controlled anger, told Buffy, "Go. Now. Take Spike and leave before you end up having to carry him out in a ziplock bag."

"Hey, as long as this ziplock bag is seated in the drivers side of my new toy Viper," Spike said, swinging around and headed out of the office, "you can dust me six ways to Sunday for all I care."

"Angel--" Buffy started.

"Not now," he cut her off. "Okay? Go... bake somewhere else."

Spike halted at that, just long enough to throw Buffy a sideways glance. "Yeah, see. He's got this cooking analogy when it comes to you. I tried to tell him that culinary skills aren't really your mainstream--"

"Spike! Go!"

Spike dropped the amusement to play the thoughtfully impressed. "Not as powerful as 'Let there be light', but demanding all the same."

"If you're not out of this building in two minutes--"

"Gonna, what? Send security after us?" Spike tsked. "I'm really quite appalled you'd put your girl through all of that."

"This girl," the girl in question said, stepping past Spike and headed elsewhere, "has had enough of the macho testosterone match."

When Buffy had left the office, lingering outside in the lobby, Spike turned to Angel with a smile on his face. "So I guess this is goodbye..."

"_Spike_."

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of her."

"If you hurt her, in any way, I'll make you pay. Buffy means a lot--"

"Buffy? Thought we were talking about the Viper? Right, well." He shrugged, though it was put on as hell, and took a couple of steps that carried him backwards. "Enough of the idle chit chat. Let me know how this whole managing evil works out for you, yeah?"

"Get out."

"So, guess you'll call about that whole Shanshu bugaboo?"

With one last glare and without another word, Angel shut the door.


End file.
